The Eighteenth Year
by Concetta
Summary: It is the Princes Cor and Corin's eighteenth birthday. King Lune has invited a very charming young noblewoman especially in consideration for the crown prince's future. Only Aslan knows what the future holds for the princes in their eighteenth year.
1. The Horn Blows at Dawn

A/N: Thanks for the constructive criticism, all. It's been a looong time since I've written anything and also, being a cartoonist, I'm better at drawing the details than describing them in writing. This is a re-write.

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No twin brothers were ever more dissimilar than the Princes Corin and Cor.

One was highly athletic, impulsive and loud. The other: studious, cautious and quiet. Corin stayed up till all hours and would sleep past noon if allowed. Cor always went to bed early and rose early.

Prince Cor valued his sleep.

That being said, he did not appreciate his younger brother bursting into his room at first light blasting a hunting horn.

"Happy eighteenth birthday to us! Get up, slug-a-bed!"

Ah, yes. Even after seven years Cor had not adjusted to this once a year ritual. Apparently, dawn was the time when he and his brother were born. The tradition of Archenland was that the family would give presents to the birthday boy or girl not only on the birth day but at the birth hour. Thus, the royal family at Anvard would assemble quietly in King Lune's study for distribution of gifts. In the evening would be the ball and other such formalities.

When Prince Cor ignored him by turning over, Corin raised one leg and promptly kicked him out of bed.

"Come along now, Cor. Everyone's waiting!"

The two princes entered the study a few minutes later. King Lune rose from his chair to greet them, embracing them both tightly.

"Happy eighteenth birthday, my sons!" King Lune's deep warm voice broke a little. Since Cor's return, he could not get through a birthday without tearing up.

Aravis, who was considered part of the family, stood behind the king, her smile interrupted by a huge yawn.

"Happy birthday, your majesties." She was already dressed in her morning gown of canary yellow. Due to Archenland weather, she had long abandoned the dress of Calormen. She discovered yellow to be her new favorite color. It enhanced the deep olive hue of her skin.

King Lune bade them to sit as the gifts were distributed. Corin first because he was impatient. Cor was content to wait and watch.

To Corin from Aravis: a portable writing desk, so he can pursue his studies even when outside the castle (Corin did not even pretend to appreciate the sentiment).

From Cor: A writing set, complete with five different colors of ink: blue, black, green, red and purple and a set of fresh quills.

"Is this some sort of hint?" Corin asked ruefully, glancing at his brother and the Tarkeena.

From King Lune, a ceremonial dagger, beautifully wrought. On the blade was etched the image of a lion. On the other side were the words "As strong as He is merciful".

To Cor, Corin gave a set of beautifully fletched arrows with linen wads wrapped around the arrowheads (Cor thought it was for safety, but Corin pointed out that they were for setting on fire).

King Lune also gave Cor a dagger. On his dagger was the likeness of a phoenix. On the other side of the blade were these words: "For this son of mine was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found". Cor blinked back a tear that threatened to escape. He stepped forward and hugged his father, who was on the verge of tears again. Corin would have also embraced the king, had he not thought himself too old to do such things voluntarily.

Then, came Aravis' gift for Cor.

"It's in the hall."

When Aravis returned there was perched on her wrist a sleek, regal-looking, falcon.

"Calormen's finest," she announced proudly.

The falcon fixed Cor with a sharp-eye. If it were not a dumb bird, Cor would have interpreted the look as disapproval. The smile Cor managed to muster came out as a grimace.

"You don't like her," Aravis said with definite disapproval.

Instead of admitting his fear of the bird he stammered out: "No! Of course not! She's beautiful . . . I . . . I just don't know how to handle . . ."

Corin slapped his brother's shoulder, sending him a few stumbling steps forward.

"Don't worry, I'll teach you."

Aravis took note that, four years ago, his twin's pat on the back would have sent Cor sprawling.

"You don't know a thing about the art of falconry either, Prince Corin."

"True. But, I'm sure to get a hang of it on the first try."

Aravis rolled her hazel eyes.

"You just watch, Aravis! I'll get a hawk of my own and before you can say Tere . . . Terebithia --"

"'Tereb_in_thia.'"

"Before you can say that, I'll have mastered it before Clumsy Cor!"

Cor flushed at the uncreative nickname. He was always tripping over his own feet and now that his growth spurt had finally hit, he was even more unwieldy.

King Lune slapped his big hands against the armrests of his study chair and launched himself from his seat. Corin winced, expecting to be punished for teasing his older brother.

Instead, King Lune let out his trademark, rafter-filling laugh.

"Speaking of Terebinthia . . . I have an announcement to make."

Corin was suddenly alert. King Lune reached into the inside pocket of his robe and drew out a small envelope. Corin peered at the seal and paled, his eyes widened with horror.

"Not her!" He wailed.

"Corin!" Lune barked as his only reprimand.

Cor and Aravis turned to the king with quizzical eyes.

"We have a special guest coming to the ball this evening. The Lady Amberjill, daughter of Lord Ackley, the Duke of the island country of Terebinthia, is--"

"--Coming here!" Corin moaned.

"Yes, my son. I expect you both to give her extra special attention tonight, make her feel welcome, especially you, Cor."

"I? What for?"

"Well . . . to be frank, my boy, it is high time you start considering your future happiness. As the crown prince it would be best to have that all sorted out and an heir along the way before you become king. "

Corin stopped his expressions of agony and instead a smile spread across his face and color returned. He was off the hook. Now completely recovered, he turned to his brother and put his arm around him in a shoulder embrace. "Have I told you how much I appreciate you lately, Cor?"

Cor did not answer, but he knew that the pit of his stomach was somewhere near his ankles now.

"B-But, I-I don't . . . how should I act around her? I don't know how to act around girls."

Aravis was at his elbow, the gift bird dangerously near his face.

"Excuse me?" She said with an arched eyebrow.

Cor back-peddled figuratively and literally, stepping away from the advancing Aravis.

"You don't count--"

Cor felt King Lune's bookshelf at his back and the armchair at his side.

"What?"

Cor stepped behind his father's chair to put some space between himself and the livid Tarkeena.

"No! I mean—I don't see you as--"

"WHAT?"

Corin was at his other elbow. "Keep digging and I'll be crown prince again."

King Lune finally interrupted. "What about Queen Susan and Queen Lucy? You seem at ease around them."

"Well . . . they don't seem like royalty—I mean--they do, but at the same time, they don't. There's something very easy about them that . . . I don't know . . . puts me at ease, also."

Aravis' ire abated slightly, then entirely as she became thoughtful.

"I have a thought, Cor." Her eyes brightened as the idea began to form clearer in her mind. "What you need is some instruction in courtly manners, or courtly-love, rather."

Corin snickered earning a glare from his brother. King Lune came up to Aravis and put a paternal hand around her shoulder.

"A splendid idea, Lady Aravis!"

"Why not start now?" Corin suggested mercilessly.

Aravis, absently stroked the hawk's head. "Why not?"

"Because I can't make courtish-love or whatever until I have had breakfast!" Cor protested, slipping out from behind the chair and making a beeline for the door. Aravis and Corin hurried after him to make sure he went towards the dining hall and not try to make an escape.

King Lune was left to follow after them at his leisure.

"Capital!" He exclaimed to himself, clapping his hands together. He was already picturing grand-babies bouncing on his aged knee.


	2. Dancing for Dummies

A/N: Hi, everybody! I'm sorry I took so long to update. Even though I think constructive criticism is useful and good, it took the wind out of my sails for a while and I procrastinated over writing the next chapter. But, I think my rewrite made it better. So thanks! Also thanks to all the readers who urged me to continue, that really inspired me to do another chapter. On another note, the dance described in this chapter is the _Volta_. I know it's kind of cliché to use nowadays with all the 16th century period films and shows using it, but I couldn't find any other of waltz-like dance that pre-dated the actual waltz. I can imagine waltzing going on at Cair Paravel because of the Pevensies, but I pictured Archenland having more Medieval/Renaissance customs.

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Over breakfast the royal, plus Aravis, proceeded to inform Prince Cor of all his social faults that had yet to be redressed. Aravis contributed most to the lecture.

"You know Cor, you have the most annoying habit of avoiding eye-contact whenever anyone engages you in conversation."

"You always look at your feet when you walk," Corin chimed in.

"I can't help it." Cor mumbled.

"And that's another thing! You are a mumbler! There is nothing as unattractive as a mumbler."

"Well, then maybe I don't want to be attractive. I'd rather be left alone, anyway." Cor said as clearly as possible and not bothering to mask his mounting irritation.

"Keep it up and you will be alone," Aravis shot back.

The family fell back to eating and the poor prince had a brief respite. But, he had lost his appetite. King Lune watched his eldest son push his ham, which he had spent five minutes cutting up, around his plate. His shoulders sagged as if someone had put a yoke around his neck.

The king had recently begun to observe his son with concern. Of all the tutors he gave him, a tutor in deportment was the only one he lacked. Suddenly finding out he is not a lowly fisherman's son but a prince and not only a prince but the Crown Prince of Archenland is a lot for a boy of thirteen to process. Thinking that it might overwhelm the lad, he had held off giving Cor instruction in court etiquette.

So, King Lune held it off and held it off until, before he knew it, five years had gone by. In the back of his mind Lune had hoped that Cor would just pick up the new habits through simple observation. But, Cor still lowered his head slightly and dipped or shifted his gaze whenever spoken to. Even with the servants. And because of Cor's rank, none of the palace staff dared to correct him.

King Lune sensed that this was more than shyness and he fell into a brown study that lasted until the ball.

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Soon after breakfast Aravis and Corin disappeared somewhere together, leaving Cor to hope they had forgotten their threats of lessons. But, after an hour or two, They hunted Cor down and dragged him to the Great Hall where the dance would be held.

It was already emptied of its usual furnishings and the servants were in the process of putting the finishing touches on the decorations.

Aravis held a timbrel in her hand. Corin was holding a dummy, which resembled an unfinished, over-sized rag doll. He often used it for target practice.

"Look sharp, brother!" Corin tossed the dummy to Cor who, instead of catching it, just stepped out of the way.

"Poor Lady Amberjill . . ." Corin said with fake exasperation. "You were supposed to catch her, Cor."

Cor answered with a fake apology.

"Oh, was that part of the lesson? So sorry."

With a loud sigh Aravis broke into their pointless banter.

"If you _children_ are done fooling around, I'd like to get started."

The three spent the entire afternoon drilling Cor through the list of the dances that were scheduled for that night. Cor was familiar with most of them from the few balls he had been to since he came to Anvard.

"There is one new dance on the list," Aravis said while sitting on one of the settees sitting against the wall. She was rubbing her right foot. Cor kept stepping on her instep. "It is one of the traditional dances of Terebinthia, though apparently it's just reaching the mainland. It's called _The Gazelle_. I did not know it myself until Corin taught it to me this morning. Would you kindly demonstrate, Prince Corin? Use the dummy this time. My feet are all black and blue."

"Well, if you wouldn't go so fast-"

Aravis waved away Cor's protests. "Just watch."

Corin picked the dummy off the floor and, bowing to it, flashed a smile that dripped with mock suavity. Aravis smothered a laugh and began to beat a three quarter time out on her timbrel.

Corin assumed the first position of the dance. He faced the dummy and pulled it close. Then spinning in a slow circle, he held it by the waist and lifted it into the air so it's eyes (if it had had eyes) were level with the top of his head. He did this at intervals and each time he brought the dummy back down to earth, he brought it back against his chest.

Cor's attention was suddenly distracted by a sharp pain in the palms of his hands. He did not know when he began to clench his fists, but he did it hard enough to create angry, red fingernail marks.

For some reason he did not like the idea of Corin holding Aravis in that manner.

"And that's it," Corin announced, stopping in front of Aravis and Cor.

"Seems simple enough," Cor muttered.

"Stop muttering!" Aravis scolded.

"Of course it's a little different with a real partner. Though the weight isn't really an issue since the momentum of the dance does most of the work."

" . . . Unless Aravis is my partner." Cor mumured with a smirk. Corin doubled over with a bark of laughter.

"Ha! Good one, brother!"

"Are you saying . . . I'm fat?" The Tarkheena's voice was dangerously low,

Cor knew he signed his death warrant, but for some reason today he felt like pushing Aravis' buttons.

"No, not at all. I'm sure it's all muscle."

"Are you saying I'm mannish?"

"Well, you could stand a few lessons in femininity . . ."

"If you were a visiting prince and had said that to me while I was still a Tarkheena in my royal Calormen home you would've received thirty lashes!"

Corin, sensing the tension in the room mounting, gave a nervous laugh and said "Well, it's a jolly good thing we aren't in Calormen."

"Sometimes I wish I were back there!" Aravis said, launching herself from the settee and storming out of the hall.

"Another check mark on your quarrel quota for the day, eh?" Corin chuckled as he plopped down beside his brother.

"As always," Cor replied quietly.

"So . . . are you going to dance with the dummy?"

"Oh, are you volunteering to be my dance partner?"

Corin shoved him off the seat.


	3. An Idea

Cor, having the good sense to feel guilty, went looking for Aravis soon after. What could he say? Quarrelling was nothing new to them. Why did it feel . . . unnecessary and childish today? When he could not find her, he gave up and decided to work his mental faculties over tonight's more pressing problem.

_What am I to do about this Lady Amberjill? Some might suggest I give the young lady a chance, meet her myself and then form an opinion . . . But, even my brother is frightened of her . . . I wish I could somehow escape the ball . ._ .

Cor had liked balls up to this point. There had been no pressure, no impending sense of political and/or dynastic doom if he things did not go according to plan.

_._

_I could pretend to be ill . . . but then Father would fret . . . the last time I was ill he worried so much he almost gave himself an ulcer. No, I must think of something else . . . ._

Cor buried his face in his hands and plopped into his study chair with a groan. Sometimes, and they were very short sometimes, Cor would wish that he was back in that miserable fisherman's hut in Calormen. He knew what had been expected of him and it was very little:

Mend the nets; clean the hut; cook. Simple. These were tasks he knew he could do. The only one to suffer, really, if the jobs had not been done to satisfaction, was he.

But, if had not run away with Bree then he would not have known his wonderful father or brother. He would also have never met a certain Calormene princess . . .

_Aravis . . ._

Leaping from his study chair he threw open the door and left to renew his search for Aravis.

Cor had an idea.


	4. Brilliant

Aravis was in the northernmost fields training her falcon. She had not sensed Cor's approach yet, her back being to him. Cor thanked the Lion and tread carefully. How exactly was he to broach the subject?

_One chance out of a thousand she'll actually go for it._

Suddenly, the hawk which had been wheeling about overhead, went into a dive. Cor looked to see the bird's talons making a beeline for his face. He only had time to duck his head down. The falcon made off with slightly less than a clump of his hair. The beast then fluttered down onto Aravis' outstretched arm.

"Good girl, Aderyn."

"Aravis! Did you tell that bird to attack me?" Cor burst out, incredulous.

"Don't be ridiculous," Aravis said over her shoulder. "She probably mistook you for a rabbit. It is your unkempt hair, I'm sure."

"Very funny," Cor mumbled mirthlessly.

"I thought so."

Cor decided he did not to need move any closer to her for this conversation.

"Aravis, I'm sorry."

"Sorry for what?"

"You know what. If I list them you'll get angry all over again . . . and I don't want you angry, not with that accursed bird on your arm."

"You will have to learn how to use your own 'accursed bird', you know. I do not want my gift wasted."

"I know."

Aravis strode past him, making her way toward the Mews. Cor followed silently alongside her. His brain worked furiously over imaginary dialogue and different ways to open his idea, his plan.

"It _is_ all muscle," Aravis said quietly, breaking in unexpectantly on his train of thought.

"What?"

". . . And I try to be more feminine in the Archenladish sense, but it is hard. Especially since I was not very good at it in Calormene sense, either."

Aravis stepped into the Mews before Cor had a chance to say anything.

It finally dawned on Cor what Aravis had been muttering about. He never ceased to be startled by her random flashes of vulnerability. Cor cautiously stepped inside the Mews.

It was dim, light only filtering in from a small slit of a window. Apparently, falcons felt safest in dark corners.

It was a small enclosure. Cor did not have to step far in to reach Aravis. He moved slowly so as not to startle the birds. He wrinkled his nose at the stench of their droppings and almost turned tail.

Almost.

He had to bring up his idea as quickly and as secretively as he could . . . before he lost any more of his already depleted nerves (the suspicious falcon attack had seen to that).

"I didn't mean anything by what I said earlier," Cor began.

He was close enough behind her to stir the wisps of hair that had come free of Aravis' braid with his whisper.

Aravis shivered involuntarily, or so she thought.

"You could have fooled me."

"You know I can never fool you."

"True." Aravis turned to face Cor. The space was so small he had to step back to accommodate her slight movement. "And that is why I took it seriously."

"Again, I am sorry."

Aravis just stared at him. Cor then realized what she was waiting for.

". . . And I don't think you're fat."

A slow smile tilted the corner of her mouth. "Oh, very well then, you're forgiven."

Cor stared down at her. He always liked that particular smile of hers. It was a sweet mixture of good humor and mischievousness.

"So . . . is there something else you wanted to discuss with me or must I have your permission to leave the mews?"

"Oh!" Cor had almost completely forgotten. How could he forget?

"I have a solid plan that will keep Lady Amberjill, and any other husband hunter there, away from me."

"How?"

"You will beat them to it."

Aravis blinked at him for a moment . . . then burst out in a peal of laughter so loud it distressed the falcons and they had to leave.


	5. Blink and You Miss It

Sorry this chapter is so short and took forever. I've been a very busy bee!

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Blink and You Miss It

Aravis wiped her tears with the hem of her billowing sleeve. She observed Cor bristling all the while but did not care. In fact, it only further fueled her mirth.

"What is so funny?"

Aravis finally regained her breath. "No," was her answer.

Cor stopped his fuming immediately.

"No one would believe it, anyway."

Cor blinked at her.

Aravis could not tell if he was shocked, hurt or formulating a plan "B" already and not really looking at her at all. She would not be surprised.

With a slight sigh of exasperation the tarkheena brushed past the prince. But before she could get very far his hand gently grasped her shoulder, arresting her movement.

"Why not? If I _had_ to marry someone I would rather it be you."

Aravis went very still.

"Why do you say that?" She asked slowly.

Cor blinked at her again. He was not sure either.

"I don't know, really. But, we are friends, right?" A little grin tugged at the corner of his mouth.

Aravis rolled her eyes but her expression softened. "Of course we are friends, Cor."

"I would rather marry a friend than a perfect stranger. At least I would know what I was getting into."

Aravis ignored the possible jibe and instead tried to voice the thought that suddenly popped into her head.

"But, what would you do about . . . ?" Aravis dipped her head at him expectantly. " . . . You know . . . ?"

Cor blinked at her for a third time before turning a deep crimson. He immediately let go of her shoulder.

To the pair the fresh air suddenly felt as close as in the mews. Trumpets sounded in the distance.

Cor regained his composure. "Lady Amberjill must be here."

Aravis looked back toward the castle. "Must be." Then turned back to him. "So, what are you going to—"

Cor was no longer there.

"Coward!"


	6. Ready?

The majority of the retinue from Terebithia was dispersed among the servants and each led to their rooms for rest and refreshment before meeting with King Lune and the royal family.

The maids and several ladies of the court, including Aravis, stood in the reception hall of the women's wing waiting to receive their special guest. They did not wait long.

The double doors to the circular room burst open.

"The Lady Amberjill," announced the footman.

Aravis drew in a breath, for in stepped the loveliest lady she had ever seen.

Her skin was a creamy white, and seemed to glow like the moon over the ocean. One would not think she lived on a sunny island. Her hair was the color of the white sands found in the oases of Calormen. Her nose delicately snubbed at the end. Her lips like two damask rose petals.

But, the thing that drew the most attention, once she stepped closer, were her eyes. Almond shaped. One would call them blue at first, but on further inspection, around her pupil sea green fanned out from a ring of cerulean.

Lady Amberjill glided right through the group, seemingly knowing, where to go.

"Good afternoon, darlings. I hope I am not late." Her voice was like the tinkling of tiny silver bells . . .

"We were waylaid en-route by the most _charming_ fabric merchant who had the most _charming_ fabrics and I could not continue until I had at least seen all of her wares and _of course_ I ended up buying _none _of them as usual . . . Oh, are all of you here for _just me_? How _sweet_ of his majesty, he is always such a dear. It was a _long_ journey, but it was worth it, I love this climate, it agrees with my hair. You should see it at home—ugh! The salt air does not do it any favors, if you know what I mean. Is this a newly constructed wing? It's lovely! I must get the name of your decorator." . . . Ringing incessantly.

Aravis' head spun as she tried to keep up with Amberjill's vocalized stream of thought.

_She's a blonde Lasaraleen!_

"And _you_, you are _clearly_ not from around here. Who are you?"

It took a moment for Aravis to realize that the vision was ringing at her.

"I- I am Aravis, daughter of Kidrash Tarkan of Calavar, in Calormen."

"A Tarkheena! How exotic! That means you are a noble lady, too!" Lady Amberjill linked her arm through Aravis'. "We shall be the _best_ of friends!"

Aravis felt dizzy. _What just happened?_

"How long have you been here? You _must _tell me your story and then fill me in on _all_ the latest gossip! Which servant does your hair? It is di_vine_!"

_If Cor marries this silly girl there will be no living here. _

In the other wing of the castle, Cor was in the middle of donning his finest (and heaviest) garments. Corin was there as well, lounging on his brother's bed, doing a fine job of mussing his formal clothes, bouncing a racquet-ball against the wall.

"So, then Bavol said to me 'there's no way you can drink all that.' I said 'watch me,' and almost downed the whole thing before throwing up."

"Hm," was all of Cor's reply.

Cor was staring sullenly at his reflection until his gaze was interrupted by Garret, his manservant pulling the outer tunic down over his head.

"Lighten up, Clumsy Cor. You'll be fine." Corin encouraged his brother. "Just dance and talk and eat. It will be over before you know it—that is, unless she likes you, then _she'll be back_! Bum-bum-BUM!"

"Stop it! I'm not thinking about that."

Corin stopped bouncing the ball and lifted his head to peer at his twin.

"What is bothering you then? You've been distracted all afternoon."

"I don't know. I . . . Well . . ."

Cor proceeded to tell Corin the events of that morning near the mews and his plan.

"That was a brilliant idea, Cor! Too bad she didn't go for it. It would've been jolly fun! You'll just have to think of something else."

"I don't know why it's bothering me," Cor went on as if his brother had not spoken.

"What?"

"That she said no."

Corin shrugged his shoulders. "You're just taking it personally, as usual. She didn't think the plan was feasible. That's all."

Cor's frown deepend as Garret placed a thin golden circlet on his head.

"Would his highness prefer the silver one?" Garret asked, misinterpreting the prince's expression as displeasure.

"What? Oh. No, this is fine. Thank you, Garret."

Garret made a small bow and left the chamber.

Cor turned from the mirror to his younger brother who was still lounging on his bed.

"Well, how do I look?"

"Like a prince."

For the first time that evening Cor grinned. "Same to you."

"Ready?"

Cor drew in a deep breath then slowly let it out.

"Ready."


	7. Too Late

The inspiration for the clothing comes from the _Très Riches Heures du Duc de Berry_. (January and May). Except in the original dress on the "May" page, the pattern appears to be crowns, but I changed it to gold sparrows, following the same general shape of the crown pattern.

. . . .

It took great restraint on Aravis' part not to rub her eyes or yawn as Lady Amberjill talked and talked and talked. Her voice—at first beautiful to Aravis' ears—now was just noise as she droned on and on.

"Lady Amberjill, I beg you pardon but I must interrupt you. It is growing late and I must prepare for the ball, myself."

"Oh, dear! It is late, isn't it? I am so sorry for keeping you! But, you have not told me _you_r story yet, Aravis!"

_But, you've told me more than plenty of yours'. _

"Perhaps, at the ball. Now, if you will excuse me."

"Of course."

It took all of Aravis' self-control not to run to the door.

. . .

"Where hast thou been, Lady Aravis?" Asked the ladies maid upon opening the door for her mistress.

"Never mind that, Ealasaid!" Aravis said, sweeping past her and hurrying towards the wardrobe. "Is my gown ready?"

"It is already laid out, my lady. The royal family is wearing blue and gold tonight."

Aravis turned to see a gown of deep azure neatly draped over the coverlet of her bed. Throughout the blue field was a pattern, embroidered in gold, of sparrows in flight. The collar was oval in shape; sweeping across the top of her bosom and lightly baring her shoulders. The sleeves fit snugly around the upper arms and billowed out about her wrists. The waist nipped neatly in, enhancing her hips. The rest of the gown flared out and draped in luscious folds, to end just brushing her slippers.

What was usually a pleasant experience for Aravis was agonizing. Because of the late hour, Ealasaid did not have the time to be gentle with her mistress' hair; she yanked, tugged, and pulled it into submission. Aravis knew there was no helping it and held her tongue instead of the usual, sharp, reprimand.

Even with time running short Ealasaid managed to create a fine coif. Aravis' abundance of dark hair was swept up and a tiara wrought with delicate gold flowers and vines, pinned on top.

"Have I ever told you how good you are in a pinch, Ealasaid?"

Ealasaid gave a little laugh as she made one last survey of her work. "No, my lady."

"Well, you are."

"Thank you, my lady. You do look lovely."

"Thanks to you."

Aravis took one last survey of herself in the mirror; exhaled loudly through puckered lips, and swept out the door.

She had decided.

. . . . . .

Aravis smoothly slipped into the ballroom. No one would have believed she had been running at top speed a few seconds earlier. Cor and Corin were already at their stations by their thrones, ready to greet their guests, which were on Aravis' heels. She walked quickly to the dais and climbed the stairs. Both princes were decked in resplendent blue tunics with billowing, scalloped sleeves.

"Cor."

"What?"

"I need to speak with you."

"Now?" Cor looked doubtful.

"Of course not; after all the guests have arrived."

Cor caught the glint of desperation in his friend's eyes. "Is everything all right?"

"Fine. It's just—"

"Sir Cwnic of the Lone Isles!" Boomed the voice of the footman at the entrance.

"Here we go," sighed Corin.

"I'll find you later," Aravis whispered before darting off to perform a very last minute inspection of the _hors d'oeuvres_.

. . .

Aravis spent a half an hour patrolling the refreshments, making small talk with the guests, but always with her eye on the princes: waiting for them to finish their greetings.

Finally, in came Lady Amberjill. She was the last to arrive.

_Big surprise._ Aravis could not wait to tell Cor she had decided to go with his plan. As bizarre, awkward, and probably unbelievable it would be, anything would be better than the possibility of Lady Amberjill taking up permanent residence.

Aravis could not read Cor's reaction on meeting Amberjill from her point of view all the way on the other side of the ballroom. Once the lady moved on and joined the rest of the throng Aravis began to weave through the crowd toward the dais. She was almost there when she caught a glimpse of Lady Amberjill. She looked stunning, of course, in a golden gown that fluttered and pooled like liquid around her small feet. But, what stunned Aravis was the high blush on the lady's face, which—annoyingly—made her all the more attractive.

A small, inexplicable, knot of apprehension twisted in Aravis' chest. She turned back to the thrones and resumed her progress. She glided up to Cor's elbow, not looking at him, but leaning to the side and conspiratorially whispering in his ear.

"Cor."

"What?"

"I wanted to speak with you." He already forgot.

"Yes?"

"Well . . ." Aravis suddenly felt very nervous and very silly. "It's about that plan you proposed earlier . . ."

"What plan?"

Aravis finally looked up at him. Cor's eyes were transfixed. She followed his gaze to Lady Amberjill. There was a look on his face she had not seen before. He was utterly taken.

"Aravis, I have never seen a lovelier creature . . ."

Aravis raised an uninterested eyebrow. "Really?"

"She's . . . she's . . ."

"Lovely?"

"Yes."

"Nothing to worry about then?"

"No . . . nothing . . . to worry about . . ."

Aravis fought the urge to roll her eyes. There was no talking to him about _anything_ now. She turned her head and looked for Corin. Surely, he would still be sensible. . . but, no. His face mirrored his brothers. The Tarkheena sidled up to the younger prince.

"So . . . Corin . . ."

Aravis watched his Adam's apple bob. "She . . . she sure grew up . . ."

"In all the right places, apparently," Aravis muttered.

At that moment music blossomed. Aravis recognized it for belonging to the _Gazelle_, the dance they had practiced earlier that day. Aravis' gaze snapped to Cor and Corin: They were no longer staring at Lady Amberjill, but staring-down each other.

In the next second, the brothers leapt into action, making a beeline for her side, while trying to discreetly shove the other off course.

"Eldest gets the first dance!"

"Only by twenty minutes!"

"I'm the Crown Prince, so I get the first dance!"

"I'll knock you down, then we'll see who gets the first dance!"

Gasping, they both reached Lady Amberjill at the same time.

"Your highnesses." She curtsied, an amused expression tickling her mouth, obviously brought on by their exertions. She looked up at them expectantly. Her gaze seemed to rest longest on the Crown Prince.

Cor's mouth went dry and his mind, a blank. Corin recovered first and made his bow.

"My lady, if I may have the pleasure of this dance?"

Aravis could have sworn she saw a frown crease Lady Amberjill's smooth forehead. But, it was gone in the next second—if it had ever been there at all.

"I am flattered, Prince Corin, but I am afraid the first dance must go to the Crown Prince, for that is why you came over here, is it not, Prince Cor?"

Cor finally found his voice. "Y-Yes!" He croaked. He cleared his throat and answered again, more firmly this time. "Yes."

Lady Amberjill rewarded Cor with a dazzling smile. He fought against his buckling knees as he led her out to the center of the floor.

Aravis walked up to stand besides a glowering Corin. While watching Cor and Amberjill, Aravis had the oddest sensation. She felt as if she were an old toy that had been left behind in the wake of a shiny, new one. It was very strange. She knew she was not a toy. She was his best friend. Nothing, not even the beautiful Lady Amberjill would change the dynamic of their friendship. Right?

A twinge of pain struck Aravis' chest and a sudden, overwhelming need for Cor's attention.

_See me standing here . . . look at me . . . _

"Let's go, Aravis." The sensation of Corin's arm roughly wrapping itself around her own snapped her out of her thoughts.

"Go where?" She asked testily.

"Dance."

Aravis yanked her arm out of his. "No, thank you. I need some air."

She stormed out onto the terrace. What was she, the dancing dummy? No 'may I have the pleasure of this dance' for her?

Aravis felt a second overwhelming desire that night: a desire for Calormen. No one would ever treat the daughter of Kidrash Tarkhaan like this, there. Not unless they had a death wish. She thought she would not be bothered by the demotion so much and, truly, in the beginning, she had not, to her own surprise. But, now . . .

There used to be days that when she had made a grand entrance; when men had tripped over themselves for her attention. When Cor, if he had been there then, would have noticed her.

_Well, of course he "notices" me. I'm his friend. But, there's a difference between noticing and _noticing_ . . . where am I going with this train of thought?_

Aravis leaned against the stone railing, burying her face in her hands, running her fingers through her hair, messing it up. She shook her head in an effort to clear it of the racing thoughts. She turned around and gazed back into the ballroom. She spotted Cor and Amberjill finishing their dance. Cor was gazing at her, enthralled. Amberjill's smile was blinding as she looked up at him.

Aravis gripped the railing until her knuckles were white. Then a thought came, unbidden:

_I wish that were I._

It was as if someone had shot her with an arrow. Aravis' knees buckled under the shock of her realization. It was a good thing she had already been gripping the railing or she would have fallen.

Aravis' eyes prickled as hot tears rose.

It was not fair. Why did she have to realize it now—now that it was too late?


	8. Hiding

A/N: Wow! It's been months since I last updated this piece, so sorry to have kept you waiting! I've been super busy at work and super busy at home painting the walls. That's my excuse. But, I'm back now! My apologies if the last few pages seem less . . . cohesive than the first two or three. I started at 10pm-ish and now it's 1:48am. Brain. Shutting. Down.

. . . .

Hiding

. . . .

Aravis was lounging in the library, curled up on a window seat with the curtains drawn. She had been spending a lot of time there since Lady Amberjill arrived.

It used to be Cor's favorite place. Even during his first month at the palace when he could hardly read. He enjoyed studying the beautiful illustrations.

Cor still had the habit of immediately turning to the picture plates every time he opened an illustrated text.

Now the prince hardly frequented the beloved room.

He was too busy accompanying Lady Amberjill on strolls through the gardens, on pleasure cruises, horseback riding, flower picking and anything else she desired to do. She never expressed a wish to visit the library.

Aravis was not surprised. The lady was too flighty.

The Tarkheena shook her head to clear the reverie and returned her focus to the page she had been staring at for half an hour. With a sigh she closed the tome.

She had been secreting away her jealousy in the library every afternoon for a week and she had been on the same page for the last three days.

"I beg your pardon, Lady Aravis."

The lady in question started, the book spilling from her lap.

The servant was immediately apologetic for surprising her then announced: "The Lady Amberjill's governess, who normally chaperones her has been overcome by a headache and cannot accompany her and his highness on their stroll through the gardens . . ."

"And in what way does that concern me?" Aravis almost winced herself at the bite in her voice. The servant had no such restraint.

"She asks—that is—if it is not an inconvenience— if you would not mind . . . taking her place. She would be 'ever so obliged to you.'"

Aravis raised an eyebrow. "Those were her exact words, I imagine."

"More or less . . . yes."

"I . . . I have a headache as well, unfortunately. I've been reading too long."

"My sympathies, my lady. I will relay the message to her ladyship. Shall I send for the court physician?"

"No! No. I will be well soon. All I need is a bit of rest."

"My lady." The servant bowed his head and left the room.

_Aslan, please forgive me for lying . . . I had to! You don't understand what I'm going through!_

Aravis curled back up on the window seat and picked up same book again.

. . . . .

Lady Amberjill glowed in the bright garden. The rows of forsythia flowering behind her framed her face, reminding Cor of the sun.

"So, Prince Cor. I heard you enjoy hawking."

_I don't._

"I do. It's such . . . jolly good fun."

"I simply adore watching people hawk. I must see you hawk some time."

" . . . I'd be delighted . . ."

Suddenly, a stinging sensation came on the back of the head. Like someone was hitting him with . . . something. Little annoyances always seemed to happen each time he and Amberjill were together. Like, suddenly tripping on something he sure was not there a second ago, their horses throwing their shoes, their boat springing a leak . . .

"And I adore these gardens and the air is so fresh. I abhor the smell of sea air." Amberjill's comment brought him back to the present.

_I've always rather liked the sea air . . ._

Even though most of Cor's memories associated with the sea were negative, he found the smell of it comforting and refreshing.

The stinging sensation came again. Cor looked around.

"Is something wrong?"

"Huh? Oh! No . . . no."

"I heard there's a tournament coming up in my honor. It is so sweet of your father. I simply adore tournaments! Will you be participating?"

"As the crown prince, my participation is not encouraged."

_And, really, I think it's all rather stupid—risking life and limb for sport. Aslan gave us our lives, it should not be used so cheaply. I think a man should only jeopardize his life for something that matters . . . or someone . . ._

Cor's thoughts turned to the adventure of his boyhood: Hwin and Bree racing for their lives, a lion closing in . . .

Cor suddenly realized that he had not seen Aravis for a while. Did not the servant say she had a headache?

_I should check up on her . . ._

A sigh startled him out of his thoughts. Cor looked at Lady Amberjill. His heart sank when he saw disappointment on her face.

"It is a shame that you will not be participating, Prince Cor. I was so hoping you would ride in my honor. I was planning to give you my scarf." Cue dazzling smile.

All convictions and thoughts: out the window.

"I will speak to my father about it."

Amberjill clapped her hands. "Yay!"

_Oh, Aslan, what am I getting myself into?_

"You are not seriously considering entering the tournament, are you, Clumsy Cor?"

Cor whipped around to see his twin standing behind him and Lady Amberjill, a cocky smirk on his face and in his stance.

Cor's face burned at the use of the despised nickname in front of Lady Amberjill.

LadyAmberjill did not laugh, but wore a strained smile. She curtsied. "Your highness."

"I was wondering when you'd show up," Cor said with a scowl. "You been following us around all week."

"I was not!"

"You were!" The retort did not come from Cor, but Lady Amberjill.

Corin looked startled for a second by the sudden outburst but quickly came back with a brilliant contradiction: "Was not!"

"Were too!"

"Was not!"

"Were too!"

"Was not! I just happened to coincidentally be everywhere you were, too. The palace is not _that_ big."

Lady Amberjill stamped her delicate foot. "You haven't changed at all, Corin! You're still that little boy who enjoyed nothing more than to torment me during my entire stay! I bet it was you throwing those acorns at us all this time!"

" . . . Was not. It was probably squirrels. Maybe there's a nest nearby." Corin leaned against a row of boxwoods and, with his hands behind his back, released the remaining acorns inside the foliage.

Cor took a confrontational step toward his brother. Corin, his own confrontational spirit stirring up, mirrored him, with even more eagerness.

"What are you going to do, Clumsy Cor? Knock me down?"

"Maybe I will."

"Your highnesses!" Lady Amberjill's silver voice cut through the tension. "Why not settle this argument on the jousting field?"

There was a pause before Corin said, "I'm game, if you are, brother."

"Oh, I'm game, all right."

. . . .


	9. Shasta

A/N: I actually started writing this chapter early last month then promptly forgot about it! Sorry!

Cor was relieved to see that Aravis was well enough to attend the banquet that evening.

Cor and Corin sat on the dais, on either side of their father. Lady Amberjill and her father, as the guests of honor, were seated beside the crown prince. Aravis was next to Corin.

King Lune, after giving thanks, raised a glass to toast their guests.

"To Lord Ackley and his daughter Lady Amberjill, a toast to our continued friendship. May our bonds strengthen with the passing of time. To the future!"

The guests echoed their king and drank deeply of the fine Archenlandish wine.

The tables bubbled with animated conversation. Everyone was chattering about the upcoming tournament: favorites-to-win, new comers, past champions, the weather.

Lord Ackley regaled the royal table with the history and legends of Terebinthia. On any other occasion, Cor would have been fascinated, but he could not concentrate. He was concerned about Aravis. Yes, she was at the banquet—but at the same time she was not. Everyone but Aravis appeared spellbound by the Duke's stories. She hardly touched her food and she was not speaking with anyone except for when asked a direct question.

Usually Aravis would feign interest toward uninteresting guests. She was very good at it and one could never tell when she was pretending and when she was sincere. It was a testament to her good breeding. One of the many things that Cor admired about Aravis was she could be having a heated argument with him, fuming for an hour, but never, ever, would she ever bring her mood into the presence of a guest.

Thus, the fact that she was forgetting her manners immediately alerted Cor that something was very wrong. The presence of dark circles under her eyes bothered him, too.

Cor saw Corin whisper something in Aravis' ear. Aravis straightened and gave Corin her full attention. Aside from feeling irritated, a sudden sensation, akin to loneliness, gnawed at Cor.

" . . . agree, Prince Cor?" Apparently Lady Amberjill had been speaking to him.

" . . . Yes?"

Amberjill turned to her father. "You see, even the Crown Prince thinks my hair does better here."

The Duke chuckled. "I do not see how he can, my dear, if he has not even seen what your hair looks like in Terebinthia . . ."

"Well, it's settled then. Prince Cor, you must come and visit us at Terebinthia very soon, so you can make a proper judgment." Amberjill's eyes glittered with humor as she gazed at Cor.

Cor gave an indulgent smile. "Of course."

A smirk appeared on Amberjill's face and she glanced in Corin's direction. She raised her voice. "But, do not bring your brother along; he is not invited."

Corin leaned around Aravis to glare at Amberjill. "I wouldn't go even if you begged me!"

"I would not invite you even if you begged me."

Everything was said with a taunting humor but an edge was clearly there, right below the surface and everyone could feel it.

. . . . . .

After bidding Lady Amberjill and her father a good night, Cor made his way to his chambers. He was tired and needed to get plenty of rest, for there would be training in preparation for the tournament early tomorrow morning.

Cor was about to open his chamber door when:

"Shasta!"

Cor winced. Aravis only called him that was when she thought he was acting particularly stupid.

"Yes, Aravis?" Cor did not turn around and kept his hand on the chamber door.

"What is this I hear about you participating in the tournament? King Lune forbade it, as I recall. Are you going in disguise, then?" Her last question had the mocking ring that always raised Cor's ire.

"I'm the crown prince, I'll do as I please!" Cor snapped, "For once in your life, Aravis, mind your own business and stay out of mine!" The prince swallowed back the bitter taste the words left in his mouth. Cor winced, bracing himself for the impact of Aravis' fury. He was only met with an oppressive silence. He took a breath and turned around.

On Aravis' face was a mixture of shock, profound hurt and deep disappointment. Cor had only seen that expression once before. Not long ago Kidrash Tarkaan had sent a letter thanking Archenland for taking such a willful and disobedient daughter off his hands. He hoped Tash would curse her for the shame she caused him and if she dared try to return Calormen, her life would be forfeit.

"For the exact reason that you are the crown prince, you may not do as you please," Aravis said quietly, looking straight into Cor's eyes. "I'm disappointed in you, Shasta. What kind of king will you make if you are so easily swayed to foolishness by a mere pretty face?"

Cor clenched his fists. To hear her say she was disappointed in him was a crushing blow that he was not expecting. At the same time he realized he was less angry at Aravis and more at himself.

She was right, as usual.

Cor normally prided himself on being a cautious, level-headed person, but one glance from Amberjill's bright, beseeching eyes, and he wanted to live up to whatever expectations she seemed to have, which seemed to run more along the lines of Corin's personality. Odd.

"I fear that if I don't participate, I'll look like a coward."

"No one doubts your courage."

Cor looked up at his friend with a doubtful expression. A grin tugged at Aravis' lips.

"I must have told the account of you facing a lion in order to save me more than a hundred times."

"It was Aslan, though. He wasn't going to eat us."

"You didn't know that at the time." Aravis stepped up to Cor and gently squeezed his hand. "That was the first time I really respected you." She looked up into his eyes. "I still do."

A surge of warmth filled Cor and flooded his stomach as he gazed down at Aravis' golden eyes. As a woman needs love, so a man needs respect.

"I'm sorry, Aravis—."

Aravis put a finger to his lips. "It's all right, Cor. I forgive you." Aravis got up on the tips of her toes and gave him a soft kiss on the cheek.

"Good night, Cor."

"Good night . . .Aravis."

The tarkheena left his side and went toward her own chambers, leaving Cor standing there, dazed and confused.


	10. Tilt

A/N: Hi! Sorry it's been so long! Looking over this, I just noticed there seems to be a lot of grudging going on between the characters . . . Anywho, I shortened the process of the joust, since this isn't a historical fic, it doesn't need to be accurate to any certain period of history, 'cause it's Narnia, not France or England.

# # # # # # # # # # # # #

Dawn found Cor pacing in front of the library window. His sleep had been fitful and his thoughts were whirling. Reason told him to not participate in the tournament, but the urge to prove his worth was louder. Cor consulted King Lune on the matter. The old king was surprised and upset by the request. But he recognized the urgency and determination on his son's face and relented.

"You feel you must prove your position as Crown Prince through physical challenge, eh?"

"Yes, father."

King Lune gave out a long sigh. He understood completely.

"Very well, just this once. And may Aslan protect you."

# # # # # # # #

By breakfast, word spread throughout the palace that Crown Prince Cor was participating in the joust. By luncheon all of Archenland was abuzz.

Aravis refused to speak to Cor.

# # # # # # # # # # #

Corin was pleasantly surprised when he saw his brother waiting in the training field, suited up for practice.

"I thought—"

"Father gave his permission." Cor held out his hand to his brother. With a smirk, Corin took it.

"I won't go easy on you."

Cor smiled. "I know."

# # # # # # # # # # #

Aravis was absent from dinner. She sent her regrets, complaining of a headache.

"Lady Aravis has been acting strange lately," King Lune commented. "I hope she is not falling ill."

Amberjill was an admirer of horseflesh and, with tournament up and coming, discussed her favorite breeds. Normally, this would be a topic of interest to Cor (it certainly was to Corin) but, tonight Amberjill's chatter grated.

On his way to bed Cor paused by Aravis' chamber door. He hovered indecisively: He wanted to check in on her, but that ran the risk of disturbing her and as consequence could render him unfit for the tournament. The decision was suddenly made for him when the door swung open.

Aravis stepped out, dressed in her nightgown and robe. Cor noted that her eyes were red rimmed as if she had been weeping. Her surprise at the sight of him darkened to anger then melted into hurt. Before Cor could get a word out Aravis quickly retreated back into her room and slammed the door in his face.

# # # # # # # # # # # # # # #

"Why won't you give me a token?" Prince Corin dogged Lady Amberjill's steps as she walked briskly toward the tiltyard.

"I've already given mine to the Crown Prince."

"But . . . I can't go into the tournament without one."

"Surely, you can find another noblewoman to oblige you."

_I only want yours_. "Of course I can! Nothing simpler."

Corin watched her figure diminish as she continued toward the lists and felt his confidence do the same.

# # # # # # # # # # #

Cor glanced up from fastening his gauntlet as his brother entered the pavilion. He noticed his dejected countenance and inquired what was wrong.

Corin looked up and his eyes immediately fell on the delicate, pale blue scarf tied to his pauldron, the armor covering his upper arm. Corin scowled at it. Then with an exasperated sigh he plopped down on a cushioned bench.

"I'm in love," he declared with a grimace.

Cor fixed his twin with an apprehensive stare. "With whom?"

# # # # # # #

Cor wandered over to his mount. He was turning over his brother's confession in his mind. He was not surprised by it, what concerned him was his own reaction. Was he upset? No. Actually the opposite, coupled with sympathy for Corin. Amberjill's ambivalent attitude toward him was embarrassingly blatant.

Cor went through the motions of mounting his charger and settling in the saddle. He gave vague nods and answers to the questions of his squire as he made some final adjustments.

"I can tell by the way you're sitting, you're not focused, your highness." A new yet familiar voice cut into Cor's thoughts. He lifted his visor and looked down to see the horse staring pointedly at him, and not just any horse:

"Bree!"

"Hello, Shasta." Bree gave a nickering laugh, delighting in the prince's flabbergasted expression.

"What . . . what are—"

"I'm here by special request. Your father thought you would be safer on my back than a dumb horse. I quite agree with him. They spook too easily."

"And you don't?"

Bree gave an indignant sputter. "That was different and you know it! If you don't want me to help you . . ."

Cor laughed. How he had missed his friend! "I was only teasing, Bree." He reached down and gave the old war horse a reassuring pat on the neck. "There's no braver steed in all of Narnia or Archenland than you," he said sincerely.

Bree tossed his head, pacified. "That's better."

# # # # # # # # #

During the formal procession the participants titles were called out. They all saluted King Lune as they passed by raising their banners. A particularly loud cheer rose from the crowd as the two princes of Archenland passed. Cor felt a swell of pride as he raised his banner bearing the royal coat of arms, which emblazoned his particular device.

When Cor returned to the pavilion he was surprised to find Aravis there. But, she had not come to see him. Instead she was tying one of her Calormene veils to Corin's pauldron. Cor forced down the sudden unpleasant feeling that flared up inside him.

Corin gave Aravis a grateful smile.

"Thanks for doing this even though it's last minute. I hope nobody noticed I didn't have one during the procession. I owe you one."

"Not at all. It's my pleasure." Aravis returned his grin warmly.

Cor suddenly recognized the unpleasant feeling for what it was:

Jealousy. Pure, unadulterated jealousy.

How long had it been since she smiled at him that way? As Cor focused on Aravis' mouth he suddenly felt the memory of the kiss she had placed on his cheek the night before last. His heart and mind reeled as an overwhelming yearning filled them.

_Look at me, Aravis. Look at me, please._

She did not.

Cor, feeling the last of his control slipping, turned on his heel and left.

# # # # # # # # # # #

Aravis shifted uncomfortably in her seat under the covered dais. She had seen Cor standing there out of the corner of her eye. It pained her to glimpse the blue rag that fluttered on his shoulder. It was a small comfort that Corin asked for a token. At least someone wanted one from her. She was more than glad to give it to the younger prince. Her heart went out to Corin, who, in many ways, reminded her of her own brother and whom she loved as one. She was naturally outraged by Amberjill's treatment of him.

The Tarkheena snapped to attention when Cor's first pass was about to begin. It was a against Sir Penhaligon of the Lone Islands. She smiled at the sight of Bree. She had encountered Hwin earlier near the stables. She had come with Bree and was now standing next to the dais, beside Aravis' chair.

"Have faith. All will be well, my lady." Hwin nickered and nudged her gently with her nose.

Aravis took a deep breath, forcing herself to be calm. "I know."

_Oh, dearest Aslan, please . . ._

Aravis struggled to form a prayer but could find the words. She knew that Aslan knew what was in her heart and that was enough. She calmed somewhat. Then she spotted Cor moving up to the list. She thought she was mistaken at first, but after a longer inspection, she realized that Cor was no longer wearing Lady Amberjill's token.

"Hwin—"

"Yes, I see." The moment Aravis saw Hwin again, her guard fell and she had unburdened her heart to her friend.

"Did he take it off on purpose or did it fall off?"

"Who can tell?"

Aravis looked over at Lady Amberjill. She was tight-lipped and hurriedly stuffing a pale blue scarf down her sleeve. Aravis did not dare to hope, and yet could not stifle its thrill coursing through her.

What did it mean?

The sound of trumpets blasting recalled Aravis' attention. Cor and Sir Penhaligon charged each other. When they were just about to meet, Sir Penhaligon raised his lance so it was in a vertical position. Cor was obliged to do the same. Sir Penhaligon forfeited the match. The same happened with Cor's next opponent and the one after that and the one after that.

No one wanted to fight him. No one wanted to run the risk injuring the Crown Prince of Archenland. King Lune looked on sadly. He knew this was going to happen. Another reason why he did not want Cor participating. He wanted to save him the embarrassment.

Finally, it came down to just two: Cor and Corin.

Corin set his lance firmly in the cradle and charged. He did not back down. The crowd held its breath.

They met.

They unhorsed each other.

"Of course," Aravis laughed.

# # # # # # # # # # # #

Well, that was a fun chapter. Read and review, if you please! :)


	11. The Silver Vision

A/N: Sorry it's been so long! I've been distracted by vacation and a Tintin fanfiction idea that popped into my head.

# # # # # # # # #

The laughter died on Aravis' lips when neither of the princes moved. Fear rose in her throat. King Lune leapt to his feet and with a quickness that belayed his size he made his way down into the field. The court physician was already there, checking them over. Corin had already roused and was trying to stand. Pages and grooms were stripping them of their armor. Aravis and Amberjill were not far behind.

"I'm fine, I'm fine!" Corin cried impatiently, batting his attendants' hands away. He turned to look for his brother. Cor was still on the ground. Unmoving. Corin frantically pushed his way through and knelt at his side.

"Cor! Hi, Cor! Wake up! Please!"

"Don't shake him!" The physician shouted. "He's unconscious. I'm not sure of the extant of the damage. I will need to examine him further. Bring the stretchers!"

"I never should have let him compete! Oh, my son! My son!" The king cried with a barely restrained sob.

Aravis felt her knees begin to buckle as she stood nearby, not being able to get to Cor because of the crowd. She could feel the panic rising. Her anxious thoughts were interrupted by a hand on her shoulder: it was Amberjill. Aravis briefly touched her hand with hers in acknowledgement then began the walk back to the palace. They followed close behind the stretcher, behind King Lune. Aravis' next thought was that they looked like a funeral procession. She fiercely shook the thought from her head.

"_Oh, Aslan . . . don't take him to your country just yet . . ." _

# # # # # # # # # #

King Lune came as often to Cor's bedside as he could. Many times he had to be persuaded, argued with and sometimes physically prodded out by his advisors in order to get him to resume his duties as king.

Corin would not leave his bedside. He ate very little of what was given to him and slept in the window seat of Cor's room. He sat for two days either staring into space or watching his brother's prone form, his face pale and drawn. Neither Amberjill nor Aravis could persuade him to leave. He blamed himself.

"Don't you dare die, Cor!" Corin wiped his eyes and a watery smile came to his face. "Don't you dare die and make me king. I'll never forgive you for it." His weak laugh became a sob.

Aravis was in Cor's chambers as often as possible, but her attention was divided when an unexpected guest arrived.

Abtin, the son of her father's sister, had come all the way from Calormen to see her. He was on assignment from her father. Aravis received him in a private audience chamber.

"He wants you to come home. If you come willingly all will be forgiven."

"You mean if I return and marry Ahosta?"

"Yes."

"No!"

"Aravis, please. By our childhood friendship—"

"No, Abtin," Aravis repeated in a gentler tone. "But, please, let my father know that I never wanted to leave him or Calormen. He left me no choice."

Abtin's face turned sad then stony. "Just as you leave me none."

# # # # # # # # # #

Cor was surrounded by a sea of people. He was high up . . . somewhere . . . it looked like his father's throne room. The coronation mantle was on his shoulders, the regalia in his hands. Cries of "LONG LIVE, THE KING!" echoed through the space.

_"Wait! I'm not ready!" _Cor shouted.

_ "LONG LIVE, THE KING!"_

_ "I can't do this!"_

_ "Cor, is something wrong?"_

Cor turned to the familiar voice and saw Aravis standing beside him, dressed in a silver gown and a diamond diadem crowning her black hair.

"Cor." A different voice came. A rich, warm voice that rumbled in the air.

"Cor."

The voice seemed to vibrate in the marrow of his bones. He had heard somewhere before. Suddenly there was the sensation of velvet on his cheek. The prince looked around and saw that situated on either side of him, like the armrests of a chair, were a large lion's paws. Cor looked up and stared into the face of Aslan himself. The Great Lion leaned down and licked his forehead with a sandpaper tongue. Cor's foggy mind cleared.

_"Aslan."_

_ "Hello, my son."_

_ "Where am I?"_

_ "Between Narnia and my Country."_

_ "What happened?"_

_ "That matters little. What matters now is that you wake up. You are needed."_

Cor felt so peaceful and so at home in between Aslan's paws. He knew he belonged there. _"But, I want to stay with you."_

_"As much as I long for that, it is not time yet."_

_"I understand, Aslan."_ Cor moved to get up.

_"And remember, Cor, that no matter where you are, you are always in my arms."_

Cor's eyes snapped open. He tentatively turned his head, wincing at the soreness of his neck. Corin was asleep in the chair beside his bed.

"Corin," Cor croaked.

Corin shot up in the chair like he had been stuck with a pin. "COR! Thank the Lion you're alive!" He fell on his twin with a hug.

"Agh! Corin . . . pain!"

"Sorry. I'm just so relieved."

"What happened?"

Corin hung his head. "I knocked you out—well—we knocked each other out really, but I was only briefly stunned." On any other occasion Corin would have been proud of the fact and smiled as he said it. "I thought I'd killed you." Corin whispered. He rubbed the remaining moisture out of his eyes and let a final watery sigh of relief escape.

Cor had never seen Corin so contrite. He gingerly sat up and embraced his brother. "Don't distress yourself any more, brother, I'm alright."

Corin straightened and grinned, his usual cocky self slowly coming back. "I'll get the physician and we'll see about that." Corin moved to the door and said before leaving. "I still beat you."

# # # # # # # # # #

King Lune stood close by Cor's bedside while the court physician finished his perusal.

"Well, it looks like he's mended fairly well. But, I would recommend another day or two of bed rest, just to make s—" The doctor was interrupted by Corin bursting into the room, waving a piece of parchment in his hand.

"Aravis!" He gasped, doubling over and out of breath. He had run all the way from the ladies wing on the other side of the palace.

Cor immediately straightened, his body alert with fear. "What's wrong?"

"She's gone."


	12. There's No Place Like Home

Sorry it's so short but I wanted to get it out there so you all know I'm not dead. :)

# # # # # # # # # # #

There's No Place Like Home

# # # # # # # # # # #

Corin briefly summarized all that had happened since Corin was unconscious. "I found this on her desk. He handed his brother the sheet of parchment.

Cor's eyes quickly scanned the document and this is what he read:

_Dearest friends,_

_My cousin Abtin has convinced me that I was wrong in leaving Calormen and spurning Ahosta. By the time you read this, I will already have gone. _

_With fondest regards,_

_Aravis._

Cor crumpled the parchment and swung his legs out of the bed.

"What kind of idiot does he take us for? As if we would believe Aravis wrote this drivel! It's not even her hand writing."

Cor went to his wardrobe and, pulling out a large leather satchel, began stuffing it's contents into it.

"What are you doing?" Demanded King Lune.

"Packing, obviously."

"You are not well, Cor. Corin and our best men will go into Calormen to investigate the matter."

"I will not sit idly by!"

"You have no choice!" King Lune boomed. "I gave in on the tournament, but on this I will not. Can not. The Tisroc would like nothing better than to have the crown prince of Archenland's head on a platter. Then Corin would try to avenge you, and if he then failed . . . with no clear succession . . . our kingdom undoubtedly would fall into chaos."

Cor slowly sank down on the edge of his bed. The burden of choices —or lack thereof— bearing down on him.

Corin stepped up and laid a hand on his brother's shoulder. He said nothing but gave it a quick squeeze. Cor looked up at his twin and thought he saw in his eyes a conspiratorial gleam, muffled by his blonde fringe.

"Don't worry, brother," he said quietly.

# # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # #

Aravis woke to the sensation of arid heat hitting her cheeks and filling her lungs. She tried to open her eyes but her lids were sleep encrusted with real sand in the mixture, and would not yield to her half-hearted attempts to open them.

"Not yet, cousin." Abtin's voice floated close to her ears then she slipped into oblivion again.

Aravis' next waking moment was cooler and full of scents that were very familiar to her. Cardamom, charoli, cinnamon, rose water.

Aravis' eyes slowly fluttered open, but her lids still drooped heavily. She was greeted by the sight of the purple veils that hung hung over her childhood bed. Raising a languid arm she idly fingered the delicate material. For a moment, she was on the eve of thirteen again, no Ahosta, no step-mother, no talking horses, no awkward tow-headed princes named Cor.

_Cor!_

Aravis came to full attention and sat up abruptly. Ignoring the momentary swimming before her eyes she gingerly swung her legs over the edge of the bed. She was about to stand when she heard a shrill voice float down to her from the corridor.

"Mother, how long is that ugly woman going to occupy my bed?"

"Not long, Aashika."

Aravis stiffened. She did not recognize the first irritating voice, but the second was her step-mother, Samira.

"But, what does father want with her?" The first voice. Aravis concluded that this must be a new addition to the family.

_I have a half-sister . . . and she already doesn't like me. Well, she seems like another Samira, so no loss . . ._

Suddenly Samira appeared at the door with a little girl who appeared to be about four years old in tow.

"So, you're up finally. You were always a lazy girl." The older woman looked Aravis up and down with clear scorn. "Make yourself presentable. You're to appear before Kidrash Tarkaan in four minutes."

Aravis drew herself up to her full height, ignoring the protest of muscles still aching from the unorthodox journey.

"I would not stoop to beg your pardon, but tell me . . .why have I been forcibly dragged from my home in Archenland back to this place?"

Samira raised her chin and an eyebrow. "Impudence," she hissed before saying, "I could not say. My husband and I were not expecting you."

"You were not—?" Before Aravis could ask further Samira flounced out of the room with a swish of her sari and many veils.

"Bye, ugly woman," Aashika squeaked before running out the door as Aravis advanced upon her.

"Brat!" She yelled down the hall after her.


	13. Haircut

A/N: Super writer's block and Korean dramas are to blame (Im Joo Hwan as Park Kyu! Droool)! Plus Christmas vacation, plus work leaving me physically and mentally drained that I can't speak, let alone write a coherent sentence. Also, I'm not sure what to call the Calormene clothing, so I'll just call them "saris" (specifically, in my mind, they are "shalwar" sarees). It's going to be short but I want you to know I'm still alive.

# # # # # # # #

Aravis was still at the door when there was the sensation of her dress being unfastened. She whirled around and slapped the unknown intruder across the face. The elderly serving woman (for that's who it was) stumbled back, the silk sari she had brought for Aravis slipping from her hands and pooling onto the floor.

Aravis immediately knelt down beside her. The tarkheena's sudden movement caused the servant to flinch. Shock colored her expression when Aravis' hand reached out not to strike but to gently touch her cheek.

"Oh no! Are you all right?"

The servant looked at Aravis as if she had grown a second head before resuming a servile attitude.

"Pardon my sudden intrusion, my lady, but I have been ordered to prepare you for your audience with the Tarkhaan as quickly as possible."

"Zoya."

The servant's head snapped up in surprise "My lady remembers me?"

Aravis helped Zoya to her feet. "Yes. I am so sorry, please forgive me. I hope I did not hurt too badly."

"My lady has every right to hit me."

"No, I do not. You are a daughter of Eve, the same as I. Being a tarkheena does not enter into it."

Zoya blinked at her, completely nonplussed. "You are not the Aravis Tarkheena I remember."

Aravis gave her a rueful smile. "I hope not."

# # # # # # # #

Cor looked up as he passed under the gate of Calavar, the city Kidrash Tarkhaan was lord over . . . and Aravis' home. The gate was much like the one in Tashbaan and almost just as big. From the sight of constant foreign merchant traffic Calavar had obviously built its wealth as being a major stop in the trading route.

Cor blew at his new fringe. It kept touching his eyelashes, annoying him to pieces. How did Corin deal with them? With a sigh he wondered how long it would be before it was discovered that it was Corin shut up in his chambers (seemingly in deep despair), and not him. Cor was deep in Corin's debt indeed. Cor knew how much his brother loved adventure, rescue missions especially. If ever Cor appreciated his twin brother, it was now and he vowed he would make it up to him. Somehow.

Cor pulled his mind back into the present. He looked at his cloaked guardsmen around him.

"Let's find Aravis."


	14. Consequences

A/N: Sorry for being so long, again! I had writer's block. And to those who are reading "Tintin and the Red Sari", thank you for your continued patience. I'm working on it.

# # # # # # # #

Aravis tread at an even pace down the corridor that her ancestors had walked for one hundred years. A guard led the way in front of her and another kept pace behind her. She held her head high as she went, looking neither to the left nor to the right. She did not need to look around, she remembered every inch of her former home, her former life.

They were just upon the doors of Kidrash Tarkaan's audience chamber when a dark object on the left wall appeared in her periphery.

_That's new_. Aravis stopped abruptly causing the guard behind her to almost run into her.

"My lady, what—?"

The guard in front turned and seeing what stopped Aravis, looked at his companion, shook his head and motioned him to wait.

Aravis reached out a hand and reverently touched the gilded leather scales of her brother's armor. His great scimitar hung horizontally above his golden, pointed cap. The crude dagger of a bandit, the last enemy he defeated before succumbing to his wounds, hung below his boots.

Tears that had not been shed for five years began to flow freely.

"Ahmet," Aravis choked out. She got up on her tip toes and kissed one of the leather scales. After the death of their mother, Ahmet had been the only buffer between the strong wills of Aravis and her father. Always the peace-maker and mediator, he would have made a far better head for Calavar than Kidrash.

The guard in front of her cleared his throat. "I'm sorry, Tarkheena . . ."

Aravis quickly swiped a hand at her tears and turned from the memorial. They would not have the pleasure of seeing her cry.

The doors to the audience chamber were massive and covered with intricate carvings depicting Ardeeb Tisroc, her ancestor, assisting Tash in defeating his enemies. Aravis had never taken a good look at it before. To little girl's eyes and attention span it had just been decoration.

Now, Aravis looked at it.

The violent representation of the fallen enemies being crushed under foot and eaten by a vengeful Tash caused a shudder to course through her. On closer view, the enemies were Archenlanders. Fawns, satyrs, centaurs of Narnia were there, too. Even worse, this made Aravis almost howl with rage; on another panel it showed Tash rending a lion to pieces. There was no doubt who the lion was supposed to be.

"Enter!" The booming voice of her father reached through the doors, which were opened immediately by two attendants.

Aravis beheld the familiar audience chamber with a pang of nostalgia. How often she used to come here when she was very small and sit in her father's lap while he resolved local disputes.

"_Attend closely, my flower. One day you may have to help your future husband with things such as these."_

"_I'm never going to get married!" four-year old Aravis declared, snuggling further into her father. "I'm going to stay right here with you."_

_Her father laughed and gave her a quick squeeze before returning his attention to the two arguing merchants before him. _

Palace life was laid back before her mother died and Samira came, everyone respected Kidrash Taarkan, but no one feared him. Back then there was no screen separating the commoners from the Tarkaan. Now there was.

Only the corrupt Tisroc had such devices in his palace. Aravis could just make out her father's outline through the scarlet veil.

The simmering fury and indignation she had been keeping down this whole time finally came to boil. This was the last straw. Aravis leapt forward and, before the guards could react, thrust the screen aside.

"How dare you!" Aravis cried with all the indignation she could muster.

"No, O' treacherous daughter of the sun, how dare you!"

Aravis' felt the bottom of her stomach drop out. The face she beheld, red with rage, was not that of her father . . .

But of the Tisroc.

"Tisroc!" Aravis' knees automatically began to bend for the customary bow of submission when she stopped and instead performed a simple Archenladean curtsy. A scandalized murmur went through the crowd.

Kidrash Tarkaan, who was sitting in Ahmet's chair while the Tisroc sat in his, leapt to his feet.

"Foolish girl!"

Aravis turned to look at her father at last. He had aged considerably since she saw him last. His beard, once dyed crimson, was pale with the invasion of white. His eyes were tired and red-rimmed. The laugh lines around his eyes had all but disappeared from neglect and creases of sorrow around his mouth were now the more prominent.

The bitterness and anger she had been holding against him since his harsh letter began to dissipate.

"By our laws," the Tisroc continued, "once a Calormene forsakes his fatherland, they forsake Tash the Great and are considered forever banished, never to return under penalty of enslavement."

Aravis swallowed. "I did not—"

"Since your defection, new laws have been set in place: If a Calormene defects to the barbaric North where the evil Lion reigns the penalty on return is death."

_Aslan . . . _

Aravis clenched her fists and willed herself not to tremble. She struggled to school her features into unwavering contempt, but the Tisroc caught the flash of fear and smiled.

"O' mighty Tisroc, may you live forever, I crave permission to speak." Abtin had stepped away from the wall where he had been standing among the other officials, clear distress on his handsome features.

"Speak."

"I convinced Aravis to come here. I had hoped the punishment would be lifted in her case. Consider her flight the foolishness of youth and forgive her."

Kidrash Tarkaan came to his feet. "O' Great Tisroc, may you live forever, I crave permission to speak."

The Tisroc hesitated before acquiescing.

"I ask clemency for this girl. Consider her royal lineage and lessen the punishment."

"Father . . ."

Kidrash spared Aravis brief glance before sitting down again.

"Her royal blood makes the betrayal all the more abominable. The lower masses know of it and it set them talking. Talking of Narnia with curiosity. She has damaged our authority."

"I would think that the defeat of Prince Rabadash by the Narnians would have more to do with damage to authority," Aravis murmured.

"Silence!" the Tisroc screamed, his face livid. "I had nothing to do with that! Rabadash acted on his own and is now paying for his foolishness by being forced to dwell in the temple of Tash like an impotent acolyte."

Aravis stayed silent. Revealing the Tisroc as a co-conspirator in the Rabadash vs. Archenland debacle was not going to do her any favors except send her to the executioner faster.

Abtin stepped forward again. "O' wise Tisroc, may you live forever, I—"

The Tisroc impatiently waved his hand. "Yes, yes, you may speak."

"I had brought Aravis Tarkeena back here in the hopes of reconciling her to her people by the merging of my house with hers."

"What?" Aravis ground out, whipping around and pinning Abtin with a glare that caused him to take a step back.

The Tisroc stroked his plum-colored beard. "Hm. The idea has merit . . . and the irony is delightful. Running away to escape marriage, only to be forced into it anyway to save her neck. Very well. You will marry Aravis Tarkheena, daughter of Kidrash Tarkaan . . ."

Aravis' head was spinning. Only yesterday she was safely ensconced in Anvard and now she was here, getting engaged to Abtin with the death penalty looming over her head. Were Cor and Corin coming to her rescue? She was hoping they were, but to attack Calormen would be asking for open war. Maybe that's what the Tisroc wanted. Marrying Abtin was better than marrying Ahosta . . . but Cor . . . was in love with someone else anyway, so it did not matter. It would hurt at first, but she was sure she would get over it. And she could use her influence to benefit Archenland. Aslan would use this situation for good, somehow.

". . . On one condition." Kidrash, Abtin and Aravis looked up sharply at the Tisroc.

"Aravis Tarkheena must renounce her allegiance to Aslan the deceiver and declare Tash the inexorable, the supreme god."

Aravis' heart sank. The whole room looked at her expectantly. Maybe she would consider marrying Abtin to save her own neck, but _denounce Aslan_? Her heart wavered, but deep down inside she knew that that was something she could never do. Aslan was the one who opened her eyes to a whole new way of life, gave her a new family, softened her heart. He tenderly guided her steps. She could no more denounce him than cut off her own right arm.

"I will not."

"Aravis!" Her father wailed.

The Tisroc's face darkened. "Then, I sentence you Aravis Tarkheena, once daughter of Kidrash Tarkaan, to death. You shall be taken to the great temple. There you shall be sacrificed to Tash, at the dawning of the day. Take her away."


End file.
